


come with me.

by momentofzen



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sad Fluff, flangst, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentofzen/pseuds/momentofzen
Summary: and you only love once.





	come with me.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is cheesy but I couldn't help it. I missed writing about my boys.
> 
> This is set in late 2000.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Come with me, I said, and no one knew_  
>  _where, or how my pain throbbed,_  
>  _no carnations or barcaroles for me,_  
>  _only a wound that love had opened._  
>    
>  _I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying,_  
>  _and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth_  
>  _or the blood that rose into the silence._  
>  _O Love, now we can forget the star that has such thorns!_  
>    
>  _That is why when I heard your voice repeat_  
>  _Come with me, it was as if you had let loose_  
>  _the grief, the love, the fury of a cork-trapped wine_  
>    
>  _the geysers flooding from deep in its vault:_  
>  _in my mouth I felt the taste of fire again,_  
>  _of blood and carnations, of rock and scald._
> 
> _— Pablo Neruda_

Stephen loved him when he was angry. He loved him when he was bitchy. _Bossy_. Stephen loved him when he was laughing. When he cracked up a joke. Stephen loved it whenever he was passionate about something and the fact that the something he was often passionate about was the same thing Stephen found himself being passionate about as well.

_He also found it extremely enjoyable when Jon would forget his gaze on his, even for a few seconds longer than the usual._

Stephen was particularly fond of the way he would flip the pen on his fingers whenever he was concentrated, yes, he took notice of that too. Stephen found himself memorizing every line of expression he had on his face — he loved how he was easily read.

He loved the way his face would change completely when he smiled. And he knew all the different kinds of smiles he had, too.

There was one especially for him. 

He loved the way his fingers would hold the cigarette, he loved it when he would get invited to go have lunch in some crappy café and instead of eating, they would spend the whole lunch break laughing and smiling at each other's jokes.

Stephen loved the cold, rainy evenings when he had the opportunity to offer him a ride home.

He also loved his hands, smaller than his but with long fingers. He could never get tired of looking at them. He could never get tired of looking at him.

His eyes were something Stephen could never forget. Icy, greyish blue. Bedroom eyes. How could you _forget_ eyes like those? 

Stephen loved him when he would call and wake him up at three am, giving out excuses but in reality, Stephen knew he called because he couldn't sleep. _He loved his insomnia._

Stephen loved how his voice sounded through the phone. He loved how he had to get up and go to the bathroom to wash his face with cold water only to stay awake. But he did it. _For him_.

He loved breaking him. Making him laugh, fuck up — it was all too much fun. Stephen loved being taller than him. Made burying him in an embrace much easier.

Stephen loved when he would poke fun at him for being a snob. He could tell Stephen to fuck off and die and somehow, he'd still find himself hypnotized. 

Stephen loved to drive at two am after a very obvious phone call to a motel out of town, only to find him there. Trembling. Hugging his knees, like a child. He loved his panic attacks. He loved being there for him.

He loved to embrace him. He loved resting his head on his shoulder. He loved it when he would rest his head on his chest. He loved it when he would hold onto his shirt, as some kind of way to confirm that he wasn't dreaming or going insane.  _That it was real._

He loved to hold him and softly repeat that it was  _going to be okay, why wouldn't it be okay? You've got a great job, a great girlfriend, and me._ The word _girlfriend_ would feel bitter in his mouth. But he soon would forget about it. Because he loved him.

He loved to feel his breathing becoming steady again, and deep down know that he was the only one able to calm him down. He did it because he loved him. 

Deep down, he knew they could never be together. And it was true. Stephen had his family, he was a  _married christian family man._ And Jon had Tracey. And he really liked her. He knew the feeling would most likely never be reciprocated, not in the way he'd like to, at least. _No_ _body could ever love anybody like Stephen loved Jon._ Yet he would still do all these things for him. Stephen took comfort in knowing he was the one Jon came running to when he needed comfort and someone to tell him that it was gonna be okay. When he needed to be held. He wasn't sure of what they had, but he knew it was  _something_ and that something was better than nothing at all.

He loved running his fingers through his hair in some cheap motel room at two am. Soothing him. Pressing soft kisses all over his face — Stephen couldn't bring himself to kiss him on the lips. It'd ruin everything. But Stephen was content with what they had.  _He'd take everything he could to be near him._

And when they got closer, Stephen dared to pull him into his lap and let him cry on his chest, ruining the worn out shirt he often slept in.

But he didn't care. Those were things you do for the one you love.

And Stephen loved Jon in a way he had never loved anybody else. He loved every little bit of him. He loved him in a way you only love someone you can never truly have. Secretly. Softly. Unwillingly willing to die for him and bury his love deep in his heart until the day he was dead.

And you only love once.


End file.
